Losing the By-Election by Clive Gresswell, a frothy milky coffee.

 Winston Johnson chomped down hard on his cigar and muttered profanities to himself. He’d felt a bit out of sorts ever since the Winstanley By-election at which he had been the Conservative candidate. Despite a promising start to his campaign things had gone down hill no matter the huge amount of effort he had put in to reclaim the marginal. Winston was well-known as the former Mayor of the seaside town and most people saw him as a harmless eccentric figure who was born in the town and had hardly ventured outside its borders. Like most of the people in the town Winston didn’t like change and was suspicious of any of the outsiders who moved in having bought up second homes. Well, it was alright for them to visit as tourists, but Winston’s own children couldn’t afford a decent home in the neighbourhood. Bah! It made him angry to think of the influx of outsiders who neither had the town’s best interests at heart nor the best interests of their neighbours.

Part of his campaign had been led on this unfortunate state of affairs. But unfortunately for Winston he was hardly Mr Diplomatic when it came to speaking his mind. Sure he got a good reception from the local crowd at the Town Hall hustings. But the real power, the money, lay with those who lived in London during the week and commuted to the Northern seaside town for their weekend pleasure. Most of this London crowd just saw Winston as a backwater bumpkin and to be honest they mistook him for something of a fool. This was at their peril but sometimes even he couldn’t differentiate between his tomfoolery act and his true self. Sometimes they even seemed to amount to the same thing – but as a politician he was to be ignored or underestimated at one’s peril.

For instance, today he was mulling over reeking his revenge having lost the By-Election with a good few thousand votes displaced from his usual supporter base and bled into supporting those namby-pamby Liberal Democrats.

The town would pay dearly for this turncoat treachery Winston determined.

It was tantamount to a declaration of war.

So war it would be.

About the author 

 Clive enjoys writing metafictions and absurdist stories. He lives in Luton, UK, and is also a well-published poet. His latest poetry books are with erbacce-press. He has an MA and a BA in Creative Writing. 

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